


I Hear Their Voices Somewhere in My Bones

by mythomagicallydelicious



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Past Abuse, Spoilers Episode 18, caleb's backstory, caleb's ptsd, close calls with cat lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 20:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythomagicallydelicious/pseuds/mythomagicallydelicious
Summary: It was a closer call than anyone knew in that circus tent, when Master Hass picked up Frumpkin, and the reasons Caleb withdrew until that evening, having pledged to give a reason for his dire need for the library.





	I Hear Their Voices Somewhere in My Bones

**Author's Note:**

> It has never once ceased making me incredulous that Master Hass is spelled like that and not Haas. It has bugged me since I started using the closed captioning. idk.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! This was actually the first story I wrote for critical role, I just lost track of it for a while.

“Oh! What are you doing here?” an excited voice asked. Oremid Hass approaches Frumpkin, kneeling down, hands making grabby motions. He picks the cat up, gathering him in his arms, speaking in a cute, higher pitch to the cat.

“Let me see you, oh! So handsome, aren’t you. Let’s get you outside,” Hass says, scratching behind Frumpkin’s ears and holding him to his chest.

The men walk out, navigating the crowded tent.

“I know you are not overly-fond of these little critters, but surely you can see the appeal of this one?” he asks, leaning Frumpkin over his arm so his companion can see him. Through Frumpkin’s eyes Caleb sees Trent Ikithon giving him a once-over that still sends a shiver down his spine.

A small curl of Trent’s lips—not quite a smile, but the attempt of faking one—accompanies the motion of Trent reaching over Oremid’s shoulder to pet Frumpkin. Long, bony fingers, chilled, touch Frumpkins head.

Caleb cannot feel things in Frumpkin’s body, yet he feels the pull of fingers through his hair nonetheless, pushing through tangles and a breath on the back of his neck saying, _“Well done_ ,” telling him he was _one step closer_.

“This one is rather handsome, for a cat. Such peculiar eyes—“Trent stares intently into his eyes, leaning even closer to Frumpkin, and it’s too much. Caleb sends an order and Frumpkin’s ears go flat, hissing and burrowing deeper into Oremid’s arms.

“Oh, don’t worry, kitty. I’ve got you,” Oremid coos over the bundle in his arms. “Sorry, Trent, I guess he’s a little shy.”

Trent keeps the curl to his lips as he replies. “That’s quite alright, Master Hass.” They walk a few feet further before Oremid pats Frumpkin, putting him down.

“There you are. Be careful not to get stuck somewhere you’re not meant to,” he tells Frumpkin. Oremid gives one more thorough pet before standing and walking away.

 --

Inside the tent, Caleb waits until they’ve disappeared around a corner before snapping his cat into existence around his neck. He speaks in a low voice to him, twisting his neck to speak into the fur.

“Oh Frumpkin, I’m sorry he touched you. It’s okay, we’re okay. He didn’t know. He doesn’t know where we are—it’s okay, it’ll be okay.”

He breathes deeply against Frumpkin’s fur and, despite knowing that when he travels through the pocket dimension all scents and detritus disappears from his coat upon reappearing, Caleb can’t help but feel he can smell _Trent_ on the cat. Old parchment, heavy soap. Lemon tea on his breath. Lemon tea heavily breathed down the back of his neck.

He shivers as another memory flashes through unbidden, burrowing his face into Frumpkin’s fur. Caleb holds a sob in his throat, muttering to himself reassurances as Frumpkin purrs. He catches snippets of conversations his traveling companions are having, drifting conversations from those around him, none penetrating the haze he’s settled into until Nott finds him and tells him it’s time to go.

He takes a deep breath, looking up and making sure he’s dry-eyed before tugging on Nott’s arm, taking the offered support she gives him as he stands.

Beau gives him a piercing look as they walk back, pulling him to the rear of the group while the rest lead on to the Tri-Spires.

He knows she will keep digging and digging until she gets to the heart of his reason for wanting to visit the Archive. He determines what his story will be as they walk. Pulling details off the shelves of his mind like books, rifling through and pulling notes from pages, crafting his narrative.

He feels Nott tug his arm, knows she has sensed his mood and he knows she will join him if he asks. Until then, she runs forward to talk with Jester and Fjord and he misses her presence at his elbow for a moment. But he is still intent on figuring out what he will say, and he doesn’t deserve an arm to guide him through that.

He pays for his own room after the others headed up. He sits on the bed and thinks, finalizing his decision to speak. Finding his resolve. He sends a message to Nott, asking for her and Beau to meet him in his room.

He lights the lantern in the room and watches the fire twist and flick, waiting for what might be his death sentence, finally. To bare his disgusting past, his horrendous, horrific choices. His young, dumb, foolish self. His reasons for needing the knowledge in that library. The unforgiveable act that still might condemn him from ever stepping foot inside, despite the arrangement she’d made.

He waits until he hears footsteps in the hall, taking a few more concentrated breaths, holding Frumpkin in his arms. In the instant between opening the door and letting them in, he almost feels as if there is breath on the back of his neck, laughing at him. At his decision to trust these people with his secret. The scent of lemon tea nearly sends him to the floor as he shoots a look behind him. The laughter in his mind grows louder, and he spins around, focusing on what he knows.

He opens the door, stiff in posture, ignoring the madness that wants to creep back into his mind. Trent’s breathy laughter fades as Nott sits beside him on the bed, Beau in a chair she’s pulled up to the edge, arms crossed.

He looks down at his hands, dirtied from the earlier fights, stained even earlier from the candied apple and little treats, from the dust in the air and the mud dried in his pockets. Red with blood and burning memories in the flickering light.

“I’m going to tell you the story of how I murdered both of my parents,” he says, not looking at either of them, but into the past. His mother and father smiling at him. Them screaming and pounding the walls for escape. The memories twisting and flicking and trading forms the way the light of the lantern is as he begins his story.

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't think of a title so then I had to go through my list of "is this a caleb song?" and see if a lyric would work for a title, so title borrowed from "The Crooked Kind" by Radical Face. (which I'm not fully convinced is a widogast song, exactly. But it's not /not/ a widogast song, so it's on the list for now lol)
> 
> Let me know if I missed a tag for this fic. I hate forgetting something like that.
> 
> Comments and Kudos appreciated :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


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